


Clowns and Statues

by SkywalkerFam



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Horror, repressed homosexuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 17:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20586356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkywalkerFam/pseuds/SkywalkerFam
Summary: Richie Tozier is not afraid of clowns. Richie was afraid of living. Dying was a game any old sport could play. But living… truthfully living, well…





	Clowns and Statues

Richie Tozier is not afraid of clowns.

The white, doll-like face. The red streaks, painted on, like blood eternally spewing downwards. When the others describe Pennywise to him, he feels absolutely nothing. He’s not afraid. 

So when Eddie Kaspbrak asked him what he’s afraid of on that sweltering hot July afternoon as his ice cream cone melted faster than his certainty, he didn’t have an answer. Honestly? He’s never thought about it. Werewolves come to mind, because of that stupid film he and Eddie saw a matinee of once when everyone else came up with excuses not to hang, but growling teeth and dangerous eyes aren’t what keeps him awake at night.

It’s that he didn’t know what he was afraid of.

But fear was always there. It was in Henry Bower’s dark eyes, the way his goons would glower at him, forever seeing right through him, as if to say “we know something you don’t shithead”. Did they? 

Clowns were funny to Richie. In his lazy daydreams, he often thought perhaps one day he would make a good clown. He liked making others laugh, especially himself. He thought it would be liberating to hide behind a face full of paint and smiles. 

But he never found them scary.

Not in Bill’s garage, not at the July 4th celebration next to the Bunyan statue, not in his darkest nightmares.

Then why were his friends so afraid of It? 

Maybe, he thought, it’s because they knew what they were afraid of. And that gave them an advantage. Now, they could beat it.

But Richie? He felt nothing so he had nothing to defeat.

Maybe that’s why he liked Eddie so much. Eddie felt fear. Hell, he felt everything, sometimes a bit too much, but that took bravery. Something Richie lacked. He would smile bitterly at the irony. You needed to feel fear to know what bravery was.

And it was brave to know what you were afraid of. It required reflection, introspection, serious thought, all the things that Richie hated more than anything he could fathom. He didn’t have time to dig deep into the trenches of his own mind, of his own heart, of his own soul. He was just a kid. He should be playing at the movie theater’s arcade, his heart hammering over the thrill of Streetfighter, not reality. Not thinking about what horrors lay dormant in his mind, waiting for just the right opportunity to rise up and eat him alive. 

But that’s not what ate him up at night. The truth was, maybe he didn’t want to know what he was afraid of…

I know your secret, your dirty little secret… 

He first started hearing It’s voice just after The Losers broke up. He hated that choice of words, but it was Eddie’s decision to call it that one of the nights that he and Eddie had both decided to stay up until midnight, talking on the phone while Sonia Kaspbrak fell heavily asleep in the tv’s hypnotic glow in the living room. 

“Do you think we’ll be broken up forever?” Eddie asked, a tinge of fear coating his already hoarse-from-crying voice. 

“Yeah, probably. And honestly? Fuck them. Fuck Bill. And Bev. We don’t need them.” Richie lied, a pang of pain stabbing his heart. “We just need each other…” 

“I know your secret…” 

“Woah!” Richie jumped out of his chair, dropping the phone on the marble floor with a loud clang! He could hear Eddie’s panicked voice on the other end, “Richie, are you okay? What the hell happened? Why’d you drop the phone, asshole? Is it the clown?! Hey, answer me right now or I’m really going to freak out here!” 

But the voice Richie was fixated on was the one that had called out to him through the dark. Richie grabbed a butcher knife from the kitchen drawer, the one his mother forbade him to open, lest he see the knife she used for cutting into the thickest meat. But the fact that Richie grabbed that knife gave him a thrill. There was something about yielding into temptation that made this moment, dare he think it, exciting… 

“Your dirty little secret…” 

“Hello? Who’s there?” Richie asked in a high-pitched voice, pretending he was in a scary movie and he was playing the dumb blonde. But his hammering heart betrayed him. He knew it was Pennywise, he could recognize that sardonic lilt anywhere. 

“Listen you dumb ass clown, I’m not afraid of you…” Richie called out. 

“But I know what you’re truly afraid of…” Pennywise sneered and as Richie turned the corner from the kitchen into the hallway, he swore he could see the clown’s eyes through the black. 

“The Paul Bunyan statue… good one, dick head! I almost believed it was real if it wasn’t for his wack ass teeth…” 

A giggle now. A giggle reserved only for his favorite children, Richie thought. The giggle that contained knowledge that Richie knew would threaten his own sanity. Levity. Humor. That’s right… the only way to fight a clown…

“How do you know what kids are afraid of, huh? Can you read minds or some shit? Are you a psychic? Hey, can you tell me if I ever win the lottery?” Richie’s hand shivered in the dark.

“So afraid… more afraid than any of them.” Pennywise cooed, “Except for Eddie. He’s a fun one that Eddie is.” 

Eddie… 

Even just the sound of Eddie’s name coming from that demon’s lips made Richie clench his open fist.

“You leave him the fuck alone, asshole.” Richie bared his teeth. “He already has to deal with his psychotic mom every day, I don’t think he can take any more, especially not from…”

“You.” Pennywise answered. But Richie thought that a strange response. Of course Eddie wasn’t afraid of him… what the hell was the clown implying?

“Love.” What… what did that have to do with anything… 

“Him.” Pennywise sealed the silence in the room with a growl. The only sound was Richie’s own heart beat in his ears. What the fuck…? 

Richie loved Eddie. Was that what the clown was saying? 

Of course he did. He loved Eddie. He loved Eddie like how summer loved a cool and gentle breeze, loved him like a butterfly flocking to a bright flower, like a lonely swing loved the wind. Eddie was his best friend. His best best friend. He’d literally drown before he’d ever admit that. But he hoped that Eddie knew that too. He thought it was obvious in the way his eyes would light up whenever Eddie would be on the receiving end of his daily ridicule, or in the way Richie obsessed over every rambling word Eddie said and would repeat it in that British accent that Eddie despised so much or the fact that they would pass notes to each other in class and try to out joke the other one, even though they would always talk immediately before the class started and the second class ended… 

So, why the fuck would this clown tell him something that he already knew? 

Unless…

“Eddie and Richie sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g… first comes love, then comes death, then there won’t be any of the Losers left… ” Pennywise sang and Richie could feel the atmosphere in the room change, as if the clown was dancing to an invisible audience, the frenetic waving about of his arms causing the cold air to sift through Richie’s hair. 

He and Eddie… kissing? No, never, absolutely not. It wasn’t like that, he wasn’t like that, Eddie would never… right?... Right. 

“That’s not funny dickwad. And you have a terrible singing voice. My grandmother sucking cock sings better than you…” Richie’s voice wavered. But why? It was cold, Richie, it was cold in here, this wasn’t fun or funny anymore, it was cold, Pennywise was cold, his voice was cold, dying alone in the dirt was cold, with no friends, alone, alone, alone, the worst of Richie’s nightmares, alone in a coffin, alone…

“Death.” Richie exhaled. “I… I’m afraid of death. Are you happy? You guessed right on the Price Is Right! Now let’s see what prize is behind Door Number 2! Oh you get this beautiful knife set with a butcher knife straight through your thick noggin…” 

“Don’t pretend…” Pennywise spouted, venom in his voice, “Don’t pretend that’s your fear. Everyone is afraid of dying, Richie. But why are you afraid of living?” 

Richie stopped breathing. That was it. Richie was afraid of living. Dying was a game any old sport could play. But living… truthfully living, well…

"I'm not afraid... I'm not, I'm not, I'm not..." Richie pleaded, to himself or to Pennywise, he wasn't sure. All that greeted him back was a low, menacing cackle and one final warning from his demon.

"You are... oh, you are, Richie. More than you know. But don't you worry, I know. I know what it is. And it's a good fear, Richie. It's a good one." 

The voice disappeared as fast as it had come. There was a brand new stillness in the air that Richie despised. Like something impossibly vacuumed any semblance of life in the hallway; there was no smell anymore, no sound, no anything. There was nothing. 

Nothing. Richie's greatest fear. 

Nothing was the absence of life. Nothing was what he was afraid of. Nothing.

Right?


End file.
